


Ungodly Hour

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Beat up!Yamaguchi, Bullied!Yamaguchi, Happiness to angst in less than 60 seconds flat, Hurt/Comfort, I really don't have anything else to say about this except i'm sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamaguchi has finally been made a starter, but it doesn't last long...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ungodly Hour

**Author's Note:**

> So my friends refused to show me some art of Yamaguchi all beat up but ha the jokes on them because I was inspired anyways. 
> 
> I may or may not have cried while writing this.

“I’ll take you out for dinner later,” Tsukishima says, and the small smile pulling up at one side of his mouth is warm and proud in a way that Yamaguchi’s not sure he’s ever seen.

He feels light, buoyant and carefree like if he jumped a little too high he wouldn’t come back down again. It’s heady. His grin hurts his face and he knows he probably looks like an idiot but he doesn’t care. He’s finally one of the starters.

Daichi had announced it today after the end of practice, and everyone had cheered and clapped and Yamaguchi had been so stunned he hadn’t known how to react. Now, on the walk home with Tsukishima, he feels the full force of everything settling onto his shoulders and he wants to cry with happiness. He’s worked so hard for this, and though it’s taken him until the end of their first year, after all the competitions and real games are long over, he still feels incredibly accomplished.  

Judging by how Tsukishima is staring at him, the other teen seems to think him just as accomplished. Yamaguchi feels like he’s going to burst with it.

“A celebration dinner?” he asks, Tsukishima nods, and Yamaguchi bounces on his toes with excitement. “I want to go to McDonald’s.”

Tsukishima’s face sours, such that Yamaguchi knows without a doubt that his first pick in restaurants had been deemed entirely unacceptable. Well damn, he’s never had the chance to go to any of the big fancy places in the nearby towns.  

“Fine,” he says, knocking his shoulder companionably into Tsukishima’s, a move that usual garners him a brief glare, but only makes the blonde give a small huff of mixed amusement and irritation. “You choose the place then, if you’re going to be so picky.”

There’s no response from Tsukishima, but Yamaguchi figures it’s a sign of acceptance, otherwise the blonde would be complaining miserably or demanding Yamaguchi make the decisions himself. So he hums under his breath with a skip in his step and they walk the route home together.

Eventually, they have to branch off from one another, Tsukishima in one direction down a busy street, and Yamaguchi in the other. He’s gone home with Tsukishima enough times to know both of their routes, that Tsukishima will branch off a few short side streets to his neighborhood, while Yamaguchi will take the main street towards the edge of town.

“I’ll text you the address later,” is Tsukishima’s farewell, and then he’s strolling through the crowds in that sure and confident way that always has people jumping out of his path. Yamaguchi watches him for a moment before turning and heading on his way, forced to try and hug the walls of the nearest buildings because he doesn’t carry the same kind of aura.

The busy press of the street thins the further Yamaguchi goes, so that he can walk comfortably without having to dodge around people, but that’s about the time he sees them.

They’re five in total. Three upperclassmen guys, and two pretty female first years who follow along in their wake. The girls are mean and spiteful and their eyes, so prettily make-uped, glare holes straight through Yamaguchi’s flesh. The boys are worse.

They take up the entire sidewalk, leaving no room for others to pass around them, so that people either have to veer off into the street or try to push their way between them. It’s rude but they laugh and sneer and take no notice of the glares and wide eyes thrown in their direction.

One of the boys went to middle and elementary school with Yamaguchi. His name is Akio and he and Yamaguchi are unfortunately acquainted. The other four are fairly new, but he thinks the tallest boy is named Ueda, and one of the girls is Haruka. Akio liked to pick on Yamaguchi in their younger years, and it’s obvious his new friends have no trouble continuing the tradition now. Usually Tsukishima’s presence alone will thwart him, but on the few occasions Yamaguchi is alone they make their opinions of him quite known.

They’re not nice opinions.

Yamaguchi considers turning around and walking in the opposite direction, or ducking into an alleyway until they pass. But he’s feeling fantastic after today’s announcement. He’s no longer Tsukishima’s annoying shadow on the team, no longer that kid who sits on the side lines and follows everyone else around, trying to keep up. He’s made something of a name and a position for himself, and it makes him feel powerful. Maybe he can step out from under Tsukishima in this regard too, be able to stand up for himself without the blonde around. He won’t confront them per say…he’s not that much of an idiot, and just looking at them makes his gut clench with nerves. But he doesn’t think he’ll just stand for their abuse today either. No, he won’t allow them to ruin his good mood.

Their laughter becomes louder and more obnoxious the closer he gets, and then, when he’s only five feet away one of them notices him. It’s the girl he doesn’t know, and she points out his presence to the others with a devilish grin. They make short work of forming a semi-circle around him on the sidewalk, leaving his back open, and the knowing smiles they share all around speak volumes about how lucky they consider themselves for catching him alone.

He will not allow them to ruin his good mood. Yamaguchi’s chin just outs obstinately, and he hides the faint tremor in his hands by tightening them into fists.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Ueda asks, and the girls snicker.

The taunt is old and tired. Yamaguchi doesn’t waver.

“What do you want?”

Akio sneers and leans in close so that Yamaguchi is forced to move back or risk having to smell his bad breath. “We don’t want nothing from ya. Except that maybe you get out of our fucking way.”

“There’s plenty of sidewalk,” Yamaguchi says bravely, gesturing to the rest of the pavement they don’t have him practically cornered on. He regrets it instantly when he sees the flash of anger in Akio’s eyes.

The punch lands square against his jaw, and he reels, disoriented and confused for several seconds. He hears the small group talking, arguing he thinks, and then there’s a hand wrapping cruelly around his wrist and tugging him away. When he finds his equilibrium he’s in an alley, his back against a filthy wall and Akio, Ueda and a third member of their gang, a terribly attractive boy Yamaguchi would be attracted to if he weren’t such a prick, are closing in on all sides of him. The girls are nowhere to be seen.

“We don’t like little fags who talk back to us,” the attractive boy says, the twist of his lips cruel.

“You hide behind that blonde pansy all the time, and we feel like you’ve forgotten your place,” Akio goes on, tone serious and gaze hard. Yamaguchi wants to flinch against it but he doesn’t. “You think just because he protects you, you’re better than us? Well you’re not. You’re the filth on the bottom of our shoes and I think we need to remind you of that.”

Voice wavering, body shaking, Yamaguchi manages to say, “I am better than you.” The only way he’s going to get out of this is if he fights, but he’s not sure if he can make his trembling limbs obey him. And even if he did, he’s outnumbered. He should have just ducked onto a side street. Why in the hell had he let his pride get the better of him?

Ueda’s snarl looks vaguely animalistic, like a hungry wolf Yamaguchi thinks. “You’re worthless,” he spits, and Yamaguchi wills himself forward, for his curled fist to make some kind of contact. He barely has time to register the pain in his knuckles, which throbs in time with the swelling on his jaw, before they descend upon him.

\-----

Tsukishima hunkers further down into his jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets, and tries not to make eye contact with anyone on the street.

There’s a disgusting, queasy feeling in his stomach. He can’t name it, doesn’t even know how to begin to, but for maybe the twentieth or thirtieth time in the past hour he pulls his phone out and dials Yamaguchi’s  number. It goes straight to voice mail and he curses silently.

He’d spent a long time, after getting home, deciding exactly where he would take Yamaguchi for his celebration dinner. After some research he’d picked a small, intimate Italian restaurant that he’d thought the other would like. It wasn’t soggy French fries, but Yamaguchi did have a love for pasta. So he’d texted him the address and a time, and after fifteen minutes with no response he’d called Yamaguchi. No answer. He called a few more times, gave up, got dressed and walked his way to the restaurant. Once there, he’d called again, only now the phone went to voicemail instead of actually ringing.  

Was Yamaguchi mad at him? The idea seemed ludicrous in every regard. The faint roiling in his gut also told him it was something far more dangerous, and an hour after the meeting time he’d started walking up and down the streets, hoping to either calm himself or spot his best friend amongst the crowds.

It’s been another thirty minutes so far, the sun has set and the streets are awash with the glare and sparkle of neon lights. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He tries to reason that obviously nothing bad has happened and Yamaguchi is perfectly safe, in his bed at home, which brings an idea to mind.

Tsukishima pulls his phone out once more and dials Yamaguchi’s home number. It rings one, twice, three times before a familiar woman’s voice says, “Hello?”.

“Yamaguchi-san, it’s Tsukishima. Is Tadashi there?”

The woman hums, asks a quiet question into the background, where a male voice Tsukishima also recognizes answers. “No,” she sighs after a moment. “He hasn’t come home yet. We thought he was with you.” The last part raises into a bit of a question, a small bit of worry hidden there and Tsukishima feels the rolling in his gut all over again. Shit.

“No, he’s not with me. But I think I know where he is,” he lies, and then to reassure her, adds, “I’ll call you when I find him.”

She thanks him and hangs up, still sounding a little worried, and he knows she’s going to call Yamaguchi’s cell and get the same annoying voicemail that he’s been getting. He feels bad for making them worry, but it lets him know where Yamaguchi isn’t, and it means that maybe some of his stupid worrying is all for a reason. He’s not exactly happy about that last one.

Stuffing his phone into his pocket, Tsukishima glances at his surroundings and tries not to imagine all the places Yamaguchi could be right now. The night is faintly chilly, enough that the cool wind nips at his exposed skin, but with his jacket on he hardly feels it. Despite the sun having already set, the streets are moderately busy, people going out, going home, getting ready for some fun or just getting off of work. He doesn’t give two shits about them.

Tsukishima walks with a determination he doesn’t feel and tries to spot familiar tousled brown hair and freckles amongst all the meaningless faces. He’s just passing a small washeteria when he hears it, the faint sound of someone crying, so small if the wind hadn’t been absolutely still in that second he would have missed it.

There’s an alley between the washeteria and a department store that’s next door to it. The lights from the street only illuminate a foot of the cold, wet concrete, and everything beyond that is darkness. It smells faintly of foul things and blood, and the longer Tsukishima stands there the more certain he is that the crying emanates from within.

He should turn around and walk away. There’s no telling who or what is crouched in those shadows, friend or foe or even just some sob story that he doesn’t have time to deal with right now. But the clenching of his gut doesn’t allow him to move on the way he knows he should.

“Hello?” he calls into the alley, cursing himself silently.

The crying stops, is taken up by some sad little sniffling and then, weakly, “Tsukki?”

A number of emotions crash through Tsukishima; anger, concern, fear, irritation, relief. He staggers a few steps into the darkness until his eyes begin to adjust and he can see a small figure collapsed against the right hand wall a few feet away.

Yamaguchi’s head hangs at an odd angle, there’s grime in his hair and streaked across one side of his face. He’s got one leg tucked up underneath himself, the other is held out straight, but something about the way it lays is…wrong. Tears glisten on long, thin stripes down his face. He’s unnaturally still, and the longer Tsukishima stares the more injuries he begins to be able to pick out. His jaw is swollen terribly on the right, his nose looks broken, and there’s blood splattered beneath it, leaving dry, flaky trails all the way down to his throat. He’s bruised in more places than Tsukishima can count, and that’s just on the visible skin. He doesn’t even want to think about what could possibly be lurking underneath Yamaguchi’s t-shirt and jeans.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi says again, voice raspy and filled with pain, and his head twitches like he’s trying to look at Tsukishima but the act of actually lifting his chin is too difficult for him.

“Shit.” Closing the distance between them, Tsukishima sinks to his knees and instantly winces. Up close, even in the dark, the wounds are grotesque. The heavy purpling of Yamaguchi’s skin is like patch work, splattered here and there in no coherent pattern, his lips are dry and cracked and blood covered, and Tsukishima realizes the reason he’s sitting so perfectly still is to keep from moving any of the injuries and causing himself more pain. His phone, the screen cracked and dark, is cradled in his lap, hands wrapped loosely around it.

Head reeling, the only words that sprout from Tsukishima’s lips are, “What the hell happened?” He can’t imagine who would do this to Yamaguchi, except he can, and it ignites a fury somewhere deep in all the storming emotions within him. They still, and then slowly begin to recede as the anger grows and calms him. The strength of it surprises him, but he clutches at it anyways, seeking its surety.  

“Who was it?” he all but spits, and Yamaguchi flinches subtly from him.

“It was my fault,” he starts, quietly, and Tsukishima stops him before he can finish whatever he was going to say. “Bullshit!” The words are practically a growl. “Who was it?”

“Akio and his friends.”

Tsukishima wants to hit something, he wants to scream, he wants to run down the bastards who thought they could get away with this and beat them until they plead mercy and then some. He’d watched year after year as Yamaguchi was bullied, and he’d interceded where he’d been able to, but never in a million years did he think they’d ever go this far. Not like this. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this angry before.   

Yamaguchi’s prone form trembles against the filthy brick wall, and Tsukishima feels like that should probably make his fury worse. Instead it’s the equivalent of a shot straight to his solar plexus; all of the air leaves him at once and his anger flees, leaving him shaky and upset and feeling like he might need to crawl deeper into the alley to empty the foulness in his stomach.

“Tsukki?” Apparently everything he’s feeling is being broadcasted on his face, and Yamaguchi gazes at him worriedly, like Tsukishima is the one who needs to be taken care of right now. He’s still all curled in on himself, still trembling faintly, and now that he thinks about Tsukishima is pretty sure he’s not scared but simply cold. Shit, how long as he been out here? Long enough for the blood on his face to have dried and started cracking. He needs to get him indoors. He needs to get him to a hospital.

“Can you walk?” he asks, more gentle now that his anger has backed off for a moment.

Yamaguchi bites at his bottom lip, seems to think better of it, and then gives the tiniest shake of his head. Suddenly he won’t meet Tsukishima’s gaze anymore, brown eyes fixed on something in the distance off to his left.

“It’s broken,” he whispers.

It takes a moment for Tsukishima to realize what he’s talking about. Then he’s glancing down at Yamaguchi’s leg, the one held straight out, the one he’d thought was laying awkwardly. The more he looks the more he realizes it’s not the leg itself, but his ankle. As gently as he can manage, he tugs the hem of Yamaguchi’s jeans up, but the teen still gives a sharp little hiccup and fresh tears streak down his cheeks. He still doesn’t look at Tsukishima.

The ankle itself is…well, Tsukishima isn’t even sure how to describe it. He feels the urge to vomit again, more strongly this time. The skin, from the top of Yamaguchi’s shoe to the start of his calf, is dark with bruising. Unlike the bruises on his face and arms however, his ankle doesn’t look firm with swelling, but limp and misshapen. Like everything beneath the skin has just been ground down into nothing more than a bloody pulp. Distantly Tsukishima makes a connection between it and the memory of bad fruit that he’s seen at the super market, all rotten flesh and too soft insides.

It doesn’t look just broken, it looks completely pulverized. The reason Tsukishima had thought the lay of his leg awkward is because, without the ankle to support it, Yamaguchi’s foot simply flops off to the side at a wrong angle. Completely useless. There’s no way in hell Yamaguchi can put any kind of weight on it, much less walk or run or…

Tsukishima looks up sharply. Yamaguchi’s tears have stopped, but his gaze still flits off to the side.

Somehow they both seem to know what the other is thinking.

“It’ll heal,” Tsukishima tries.

The other teen shakes his head and when he speaks his words crack. “Not well enough.”

“It’ll heal,” Tsukishima says again, stronger this time, and again Yamaguchi just shakes his head. To Tsukishima’s dismay he finds his friend fighting a fresh round of tears, not from physical pain but the imminent threat his future faces. Then he chokes, lets out a ragged sob and drops his face into his hands.

“What if I never get to play again?” he cries into his palms.

The universe has to be cruel indeed, Tsukishima thinks, to take away everything Yamaguchi has been working towards, and then some, the very day he earns it. He wants to reach out and pull Yamaguchi to him, to hold him until he quiets, but he knows he can’t. Not with Yamaguchi’s current condition. He supposes the universe is cruel in that regard too.

“I’ll make sure you play again,” Tsukishima tells him, voice infinitely stronger than he feels. “I don’t care if we just toss a ball around in the back yard. You’re going to keep playing.”

It does little to soothe Yamaguchi, but after a minute his eyes begin to dry again. Tsukishima isn’t sure if it’s because he’s exhausted or maybe he’s just tired of crying, but either way he’s grateful as Yamaguchi gives a sigh and leans back against the wall again, letting his hands fall limply into his lap.

“Should I call an ambulance? Or there’s an emergency center right around the corner, I can carry you if you want.”

Yamaguchi shakes his head without actually lifting it from the wall, and his eyes flutter closed. “I let my pride get the best of me,” he says.

A hospital seems like a damn good idea, but Tsukishima can agree that once they get moving there won’t be any more time for talking. He settles onto the concrete, wincing when the chill bites through his jeans. “Tell me what happened.”

Without opening his eyes, Yamaguchi does. The encounter with Akio and his friends, how he hadn’t wanted to back down because he finally felt like he could prove himself off the court since he’d managed to do it on it. How he’d stood up for himself, even after they’d cornered him in the alley, broken Ueda’s nose he says with some modicum of pride, before they’d fallen on him. How they had knocked him down and rained kicks all over his body, his face, his stomach, how one of them, he wasn’t sure which, had started grinding their heel into his ankle. How he’d felt it break first, and screamed as the bones ground together under his skin, splintering, shattering. He’d passed out after that, and when he’d woken up it was dark and he was alone. He’d sat up, found his phone, realized it was broken, propped himself against the wall and cried. When Tsukishima asks why he hadn’t called out to anyone on the street he just shrugs, says he hadn’t wanted to face the pity of strangers.

“I let my damned pride get the best of me,” he murmurs sadly. “I should have just hid or something.”

Tsukishima thinks back to something that feels like a million years ago; a bright gym, hands fisted in his collar, brilliant, angry eyes, and a single question. What more do you need than pride?

He fights tears from his own eyes and surges forward, forgetting for a brief moment all of Yamaguchi’s injuries as he presses his mouth to his friend’s with frantic need. It comes back to him when Yamaguchi makes a small noise of pain against his lips, and instantly he pulls his control back about himself and backs off.

“Wait,” Yamaguchi protests, reaching one-handedly for Tsukishima, and the blonde halts in his retreat. “What was that?”

Tsukishima isn’t even sure if he knows himself. He says the first words that find their way onto his tongue. “I love your pride.”

There’s silence as Yamaguchi’s brows furrow, his gaze roaming over Tsukishima’s face as if he’s searching for something direly important. He seems to find it after a moment, as his features smooth and he gives something a little too pitiful to be considered a smile.

“Kiss me again,” he says, then winces and continues, “softer this time, please.”

Tsukishima obliges him, leans forward so that their lips brush ever so softly together. For a long time he just hangs there, not moving, enjoying the feeling of Yamaguchi’s breath against his face, but he withdraws when he remembers his current concern of trying to get the damn boy to a hospital.

“I’m taking you to the emergency center now,” he says, leaving no room for argument in his voice as he pulls his feet underneath himself and stands. The thought flits across his mind that he should probably call Yamaguchi’s parents too, but he can let someone else handle that later. His number one priority right now is Yamaguchi.

“How did you find me?”

Tsukishima considers Yamaguchi’s half curled form and debates the best way to try and pick him up even as he answers. “I couldn’t get a hold of you, and you didn’t show up at the restaurant I picked out, so I started walking around.” He doesn’t want to say it was the sound of Yamaguchi crying that led him to this godforsaken alley, or that the reason he’d started combing the city was because of a serious case of anxiety.

Crouching, he slips one arm behind Yamaguchi’s neck and has the teen bend the knee on his good leg so he can slip his other arm under it.

“So, sheer dumb luck,” Yamaguchi snorts, and then lets out a pained cry as Tsukishima scoops up his bad leg, jostling his poor, tormented ankle. The blonde stands, hefts Yamaguchi’s weight closer to his chest, and turns to make his way out of the alley. He’s heavy, but not heavy enough to be much of a problem for Tsukishima, and the only trouble of walking from here to the center is going to be the pain Yamaguchi is in.

They both blink stupidly in the light from the street, Tsukishima pausing so his vision can adjust and Yamaguchi slipping his arms around his neck. People stare curiously at them as they emerge from the alley, and Tsukishima laments the loss of their own quiet space, even if it was dank and dark and blood stained. He shakes his head and starts down the road, pace brisk and hard until he notices the way Yamaguchi’s face twists with pain, and then he slows, trying to cause as little bodily harm as he can possibly manage.

Two nurses rush out of the emergency center to meet him, and one helps Yamaguchi into a wheelchair. They set him up in a clean, sterile, and completely white room with a bed covered in scratchy blankets and a small machine that beeps lowly at his side.

They have their celebration dinner there, before Yamaguchi’s parents arrive, before the doctor’s whisk him away for the surgery they say is absolutely necessary. Yamaguchi cries into his, and Tsukishima kisses his temple weakly.


End file.
